FairyTale Poetry

Word, craft, art... Artist, craftsman, poet. Smith words into sharp objects, knights in shining words welds a mighty pen, damsel distressed utters poetry into screams. Help this tower of thought teases my fear of heights and has only one window I cannot breathe, O Romeo, Romeo... Romeo does belong in this fairytale; this missing gap between the realities of a dream is filled with liquid tongue flow. Hum ok Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your gold weave, wake sleeping beauty from her slumber so she too can try on the glass slipper, take Cinderella to her matric dance in a pumpkin limo as snow white her seven little chaperons get drunk of apple cider.
OK, guess my name three times and I will reveal to you an ever after happy ending and the secret to removing Excalibur from a stoned king Arthur. Art, craft, word, poet, craftsman, artist. Paint rainbows on night skies watch dying stars shoot for the moon but sky is the limit, limit? uhmm... Suspend sound on a word. Place to it music, now sing. Sing lullabies to your child poetry because these fairytale stories fail to separate him from the reality of his dreams.

Craft, word, art, artist, poet, craftsman.
Architect a reality for imagination to house insanity foundation that on a child's constantly moving mind, and so doing picture a story unfolding into curiosity, what if I could write poetry as a child, watch a world reveal itself before my eyes and animate my characters into pop up story books.
Word, craft, art. Artist, craftsman, poet, Poet takes the form of a prince charmed by a princess like beauty and he melts into poetry giving praise to her creator and rewrites a fairytale with a love making scene, where his words caress her body to a back and forth motion of heavy breathing and sweating that reads them to an orgasmic climax.

Now married to a forever after, poet and princess shack up in a two bedroom castle, where poet comes home each night with Cinderella's apple perfume smelling on his work shirt and one time she found little red's riding hood in his dirty laundry, so now she questions her beauty every night, mirror mirror on my wall, "am I as beautiful as sleeping beauty, is my skin as silky smooth as snow white, is hair as golden blond as Rapunzel, can I still dance like Cinderella" and mirror would reply; "you my dear are all that and more than what meets the eye" she would call for fairy godmother to help her pack and he would come home to her standing in the door way with her bags packed, break out a bottle of Johnny blue and asks what he had done with a sorry act on his face. Moral of the story is that fairy tales do not exist, but poetry comes close. Sometimes....